


Coppélia

by fireroasted



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, PP3 doesn't exist, Sometime after PP2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28709532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireroasted/pseuds/fireroasted
Summary: Aubrey wants to take Stacie to a ballet, but in inviting her, she'll have to admit how she found out about her secret passion in the first place.
Relationships: Stacie Conrad/Aubrey Posen
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	Coppélia

**Author's Note:**

> A very quick, very crude summary of the Coppélia story to accompany this fluff piece:  
> \- A doll-maker makes a beautiful doll (Coppélia) and puts it on his balcony  
> \- Boy sees it, falls in love with it  
> \- Boy's gf (Swanilda) gets mad  
> \- Swanilda breaks into doll-makers house and pretends to be Coppélia because shenanigans  
> \- Boy and girl gets married and dances a lot

“Coppélia?”

Stacie nearly drops the dish she’s about to load into the dishwasher. Her eyes are wide as she turns to Aubrey, who is sitting at the island with her chin propped up in her hand and a small smile on her face. Flecks of tomato sauce slide off the plate in Stacie’s hand, but it can’t be further from Stacie’s mind.

Because how on earth did she know?

“Yes, someone I know, um, they didn’t want the tickets,” Aubrey starts to say. She pauses, her cheeks burning slightly. She doesn’t know why she feels the need to hide the fact that she spent most of last week and the entirety of her Saturday scouring for these sold-out tickets. Perhaps it’s because admitting all the effort she put into finding them meant admitting how she found out about Stacie’s secret childhood dream. And _that_ meant admitting how much she liked Stacie after years of pining and two months of dating. Still, she reluctantly lets go of the first truth: “I spent a long time trying to get these. Do you…want to go? With me?”

“Will I—Bree, that’s not even a question,” Stacie laughs. She puts the dish into the rack and quickly rinses and dries her hands—the rest will have to wait. “More importantly, how did you know?”

Aubrey shrugs, trying to appear as calm as possible—she was hoping Stacie wouldn’t ask. “It’s just ballet,” she says. “I thought…it might be a fun thing…we could enjoy together?”

Stacie comes up behind her then, and wraps her arms around her middle as she hooks her chin against Aubrey’s shoulder. Aubrey stiffens a little—still unused to the casual intimacy of their new status as something hurtling far beyond friends; far beyond lovers—but she soon melts into her touch. “You spent all of your precious free time looking for tickets to _ballet_ because you thought it might be _fun_? Either you, Miss Posen, have _very_ good taste in art, or,” Stacie pauses to press a kiss to the nape of her neck, “you know something very specific about me that I never told you or Beca or Chloe or _anyone_ in the last—oh, I don’t know—fifteen years? Or maybe both?”

Aubrey clears her throat and straightens out her shoulders. “T-that’s a strange accusation to make, Miss Conrad,” Aubrey replies.

Stacie laughs and drops her arms—she misses them immediately. Instead, she presses her palm gently against the side of her knee and spins her around on the barstool to face her. “Seriously, Bree, how did you know I like ballet?” she asks. She moves to nestle herself between Aubrey’s legs, her fingers interlocked behind Aubrey’s neck, and she pouts. She pouts because she knows that face can get away with murder, and Aubrey sighs, unsuccessfully avoiding those flashing puppy-dog eyes because dammit, she is captivating and she smells wonderful when she stands this close.

“Your mom told me,” she admits.

Stacie raises her brow. “My mom? You know my mom? What?”

Aubrey’s cheeks redden several more shades. “She, uh, came to the Lodge with her team. She recognized me, so we started talking and…yeah.”

Stacie furrowed her brows. “The Lodge,” she mumbled to herself, “that…must’ve been a long time ago. She told me it was too intense for her people—mostly middle-aged medical researchers and all—but…she never mentioned—wait, you’ve been friends with my mom for _three years_? Behind my back?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re _friends_ , we just spoke—kind of—she just mentioned the ballet thing in passing,” Aubrey says, crossing her arms in defense.

“She mentioned it in passing, but you remembered for three years,” Stacie says, her lips spreading in a slow grin. “After all the courage I had to work up to ask you out at our reunion—you’ve been…”

In love with me all this time—Stacie doesn’t say it. They’re still too new at this and everything that comes with the strength of feelings like these, but Aubrey looks away anyway. Her whole body feels like it’s burning, because even if neither of them have the courage to say it, it’s unmistakable.

Aubrey wants to say yes—she’s been in love with her all this time. And yes, she exchanges “Merry Christmases” and “Happy Thanksgivings” with Mrs. Conrad every year. And it’s not weird that Mrs. Conrad was among the first to congratulate them on their new relationship. In fact, she was over the moon, filling half her message with heart emojis the way Stacie does sometimes.

And okay, maybe she likes being friends with Stacie’s mom because it makes her feel like a solid part of Stacie’s world.

But she can’t say this out loud because it’s just too soon—isn’t it?

Aubrey glances up at Stacie’s eyes and notices that she’s been studying her for quite some time. Then, without a word, Stacie kisses her. Soft, slow, and sweet.

“God, I can’t believe you got tickets to Coppélia,” Stacie murmurs as she pulls away. “I’ve always wanted to be Swanhilda—so badass.”

“Why did you stop?” Aubrey asks. She laughs when Stacie moves in to kiss her again. “Dancing, I mean,” she clarifies with a finger pressed against Stacie’s lips. “Lori said you loved it.”

“Oh, you’re not friends but she’s Lori now, is she?” Stacie says, quirking a brow.

“Shut up,” Aubrey huffs. “Just answer my question, dummy.”

Stacie shrugs. “It’s not that complicated.” Her hands drops to either side of Aubrey’s hips. She scrunches her nose—pretends to think. “I got tall, but not good enough to solo. And more importantly, I got too hot in glasses not to pursue a PhD,” she says with a wink.

Aubrey rolls her eyes and bites down a smile. “You’re ridiculous…but absolutely right. Although…I bet you’d be hot in a tutu too.”

“Oh my god, yes!” Stacie laughs and takes a step back. She’s in leggings and a cropped T-shirt, but when she squares her shoulders and assumes a position, it is entirely a different stroke of beauty. “Imagine,” she says, pushing onto her toes and extending one long leg behind her as her arm comes up. Her limbs move with the grace of a bird taking flight, and when she twirls, Aubrey can almost see the empty stage and the spotlight, tailored just for her as she weaves a story with her body. “But with a tutu,” she says sheepishly as she lowers her arms.

Aubrey applauds, laughing when Stacie flashes back a grin and a dramatic bow. When Stacie straightens, she holds out a hand. “The captain in me wants to be annoyed you’ve been hiding this from us all these years,” Aubrey says, sliding off the stool to take it. Stacie lifts their joined hands and spins her toward her, catching her with a kiss. “But I also like having this to myself,” she whispers against Stacie’s lips. “My own private ballerina.”

“Mm, possessive—I like it,” Stacie says, kissing her once more.

On the evening of the performance, Aubrey walks out of the theatre, enthralled by a world she’d never experienced before. She glanced back at the faraway expression and the lingering smile on Stacie’s face as she led them through the crowd and toward her car. She’d seen it many times over the course of tonight, and Stacie’s fascination, the way love burned for the craft in her eyes, only made ballet all the more exciting. In fact, it’s a wonder she’d kept this love a secret for so long.

Then again, Aubrey has done the same, she realizes when their eyes meet as soon as they find themselves standing alone in the parking lot. They reach for each other’s hand almost like clockwork. Stacie worries her lower lip. “So, um, what did you think?” she asks. It’s a quiet, clear night, and the moon hangs bright, casting a silvery glow to Stacie’s hair. A slight pine-scented breeze wafts lazily through the air.

Aubrey has been worried about this question: worried she doesn’t understand enough to do her own feelings justice; worried she’ll hurt Stacie somehow with her own ignorance. “I was surprised,” she says, slowly navigating through neutral ground first, “I thought these stories usually end in tragedy. But I guess, I’ve only really seen _Black Swan_.” Stacie nods slowly—it isn’t like her to be so demure about anything, much less something she loves. Perhaps again, it is the act of loving with your entire being that sparks so much uncertainty. So, Aubrey wraps her arms around her middle and looks up at her starlit eyes. “It was beautiful—I loved it,” she assures her with a smile. “I guess I just don’t really know how to put it into words—I’ve never seen a story told like that before. This whole evening…it’s been wonderful.”

Stacie relaxes into her arms, and the smile starts to reassert itself. “I’m glad,” she sighs. “You wouldn’t have known this, but…Coppélia is one of my favourite stories. Even when I was a child, there’s just always been something about her—the doll with no strings, watching over the world from above. Even if she’s just sitting there, the whole world has different expectations of her because of what she looks like. So...she’s always apart and so beloved that she’s ultimately unloved,” she smiles almost wistfully. “It’s such a joyful story about young love and jealousy and all of those wonderful fairy tale tropes. But Coppélia herself is…”

“A tragedy,” Aubrey says, gingerly tucking Stacie’s hair behind her ear. “I see why you’d rather be Swanilda.”

“Ugh, that dancer—she was amazing, wasn’t she?” Stacie says, alight with sudden excitement. She lets go of Aubrey, spinning away from her in an elegant pirouette, her toes nearly en pointe in her heels. She moves in a sequence of kicks, jumps and lifts, and Aubrey doesn’t know enough to gauge the accuracy of her impression of the lead dancer—still, she can watch her forever. “The way she became Coppélia,” Stacie says, laughing as she mimics the quick, repetitive, puppet-like gestures of the doll as she waves her arms back and forth. She then glides toward Aubrey in three quick turns, a chain of quick flips that seems timed in perfect unison with the beating of Aubrey’s heart.

Stacie sweeps Aubrey up by the waist, pulling her along as they dance under the moonlight. It’s less a ballet and more of a waltz, peppered with a few spins for flair, but Aubrey laughs as she moves alongside Stacie. It’s been over a year since she last danced, and she forgot how exhilarating it was, especially in the warmth of Stacie’s arms.

“Do you know what I just realized?” Stacie murmurs as she sways them along the beat of the orchestra still playing in her head.

“Hm?” Aubrey hums, pressed so close to Stacie she can almost hear the same song.

“If Coppélia actually came to life,” she whispered into Aubrey’s ear, “she’d definitely fall in love with Swanilda first.”

“Cute,” Aubrey chuckled. “Why do you think that?”

And Stacie smiles as she presses a kiss against the soft skin below Aubrey’s ear. “She’s beautiful,” she murmurs, “powerful—she’s at the centre of their world. She’s…a leader of a ragtag group of girls and she’s used to getting her way. How could anyone resist?”

Aubrey’s stomach flips. “That sounds familiar,” she says.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Stacie angles her head down to reclaim Aubrey’s lips. “I definitely can’t resist,” she sighs against her.

When they finally pull away again, Aubrey drops her gaze to her shoes. “What if,” she whispers, her entire body growing warm despite the chill of the night air, “Swanilda has been in love with Coppélia since the moment she saw her on that stage—er, balcony,” she clears her throat and avoids Stacie’s eyes, though she feels them burning into her face. “A-after all, Swanilda saw her first, and—and—”

“I love you, Aubrey Posen—I’m just going to put it out there now before we lose ourselves in the metaphor,” Stacie says with a nervous smile. She still has her hand on Aubrey’s hip, but she drops it slowly when Aubrey doesn’t immediately speak. “Um, you don’t—“

“I love you too,” Aubrey blurts, pulling shyly at Stacie’s sleeve. “I just—oh god, this is scary—is it scary? I mean, this changes everything doesn’t it?”

“Bree,” Stacie says, cupping her cheeks with warm hands, “it’s okay. We’ve been figuring it out for the last two months, haven’t we? In a way…this is the only thing that hasn’t changed since the moment you saw me on that balcony—oops, that _stage_ —and I saw you down below with that sexy smile of yours.”

“You’re right,” Aubrey exhales, “I don’t know why I’m freaking out.”

“Because, Bree, worrying is what you do when you have a whole world at your fingertips,” Stacie says. “And I love that about you. You take nothing for granted. But trust me, we’ll figure it out. If not, well—I guess you can always ask your best friend, Lori.”

“You’re never letting this go, are you?” Aubrey sighs.

Stacie laughs. “Never. But feel free to shut me up.”

Aubrey covers Stacie’s hands with her own, then tiptoes up to kiss her once more. Stacie lifts her higher, and she feels as if she’s standing at the very edge of her toes. But instead of the ballerinas she’d watched on stage tonight, her memory flashes back to Stacie in her T-shirt and leggings, stretched out in her living room like living art. The beauty of ballet, she thinks as she closes her eyes and loses herself in her senses, is how much one can express without words—a melange of grace, discipline, and passion. Three things that shouldn’t work together but do; three things that are so quintessentially _Stacie_.

And as she stands there in the parking lot beneath the shining stars, as she catches her breath and feels the cool air ease between them, she opens her eyes and sees the pure exhilaration on Stacie’s face. Her green eyes sparkle as she takes her hand once more.

No, words feel almost redundant in everything they feel for each other, and finally, Aubrey takes a breath. Stacie was right—love has been the only constant all along.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, just taking a wee break from Bounty to remind myself that I am capable of writing shorter stories. Truly, I just wanted something romantic and sweet and a wonderful, wonderful friend showed me the video of Alexis Knapp practicing her ballet while Kai commented on how pretty her mom is. Precious! 
> 
> Wow, do we need a sequel with little Bella Conrad? 
> 
> Anyway, I ended up watching most of a production of Coppelia on YouTube in the middle of writing this today, and I really enjoyed it. If you are a ballerina or if you are passionate about ballet, I do apologize for the liberties I'm taking. I did a bit of research (love a very wild search history in Google and YouTube, especially alongside searches I make for Bounty), but please do let me know if you have suggestions! I had a couple of poses in mind, but because I wrote this story mostly from Aubrey's perspective, it wouldn't make narrative sense to suddenly throw in ballet terms. There is an arabesque and a chaines turn somewhere. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story. As always, all forms of love is greatly appreciated! 
> 
> P.S. There was apparently a more modern production of Coppélia in 2019 called Coppél-i-A, where our titular character is an android with artificial intelligence. The costume design is very cool :)
> 
> P.P.S. Is it just me, or does that dumb song get stuck in your head every time you read "Stacie's mom"?


End file.
